


three times commie and ancom fuck,

by smallandsleepy



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Other, and bash fash, they discuss theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23714695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallandsleepy/pseuds/smallandsleepy
Summary: and the one time they make love.(genderbent)
Relationships: Authleft/Libleft
Comments: 14
Kudos: 97





	three times commie and ancom fuck,

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be auth unity at first but I wanted to save that for perhaps after the next centricide. 
> 
> jreg don't read this im sorry for projecting my degeneracy onto your characters

**Three.**

“Use ‘material conditions’ to excuse state capitalism one more time and I swear I’ll --” 

Ancom’s voice gets shriller with every word, and heat sears through Commie’s chest. Ancom’s face is pink, a drop of sweat slipping down qis soft flushed neck and toward qir collarbone. Qir eyes flash with the exact sort of stubborn defiance that always makes Commie want to grab quem by the collar and -- 

“Shut the fuck up, Ancom.” Commie can feel her voice shaking with breathless indignation, a heady wave sweeping over her as she corners Ancom against the wall. “I swear, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Just shut up and --” 

“Make me.” 

And then she has Ancom shoved against the wall and they are kissing. 

Ancom’s mouth is hot and wet and willing and Commie pushes into it, lifting Ancom off the ground and pressing her body into qirs. Qir leg wraps around Commie’s hip and she grinds forward without thinking. Ancom moans, breathy and delicious, sending a shiver through both of them, between them. 

They break free for just a moment, enough for Commie to regain her senses enough to look questioningly down at Ancom, to make sure this is alright, that qi wants this. Ancom, always so loud and fierce and stubborn. Ancom in her arms, qir lips flushed and swollen, qir eyes wide and gaze hard, so fucking sexy and -- 

“Just fuck me, coward.” 

And then they are back against the wall, Ancom panting as Commie sucks on the flushed skin beneath qir ear. She slips her knee between Ancom’s legs, just light enough to tease, and Ancom whimpers, grinding down hotly against her. 

“Of course this is what you wanted,’ Commie murmurs into qir neck. “This is why you keep arguing with me and pissing me off. You -- “ 

“ _Fuck you_ — Fuck — ah —“ 

Ancom’s voice slurs into an agonised whimper as Commie rolls her knee up, pressing tighter between qir thighs. 

“So desperate,” Commie continues, capturing Ancom’s mouth again in a deeper kiss. She can almost taste the muffled vibrations of Ancom’s moans, feel the heat as it pools in her own pelvis. “Bet you can come just like this. I don’t even need to use my hands. You’ll —“ 

“No I won’t! I —“ 

With the way Ancom is jerking and whimpering into her mouth, though, Commie is pretty sure qi _can_ come just like this. She slides one hand up Ancom’s shirt, the other arm holding quem up to urge qir hips on, and not five minutes later Ancom is coming, crying out against Commie’s skin and holding onto her for support. 

Qir hips twist slowly, slowly into stillness, and Commie, watching, bites her lip so hard she tastes iron. 

She lowers her leg, lets Ancom catch qir breath. Then she slips an arm around qir waist and tugs quem toward her bedroom. 

“My turn.”

\-------------------

**Two.**

Ancom pants as qi comes down, splayed across the sheets and staring up into Commie’s flushed face. _A dictatorship of the proletariat is nothing but a dictatorship_ , qi thinks, wildly, and very randomly. Ah yes, of course, that was what they’d been arguing about in their previous debate. But Commie’s fingers start pressing even deeper into quem, and Ancom’s mind goes blank again as qi trembles, oversensitised, heat already building once more between qir legs. 

When they’re finally done, Ancom lets Commie suck a last kiss into qir neck, and tries not to think about how lovely Commie’s weight feels on top of quem. Then qi grumbles and pushes Commie off. 

“The only thing tankies are good for,” qi says, still slightly breathless, “is fucking.” 

Commie just smirks. “Sure, liberal. That good, huh?” 

“I’m not a lib.” 

“... Fine. You win this time. I don’t fuck libs.” 

“Libs don’t bash fascists like I do.” 

Ancom notes, with some satisfaction, that Commie’s hair is a mess, and her eyes are more glazed over than usual. To be fair, qi qirself probably doesn’t look any better. And Commie’s shit-eating smirk is still intact as she leans in and presses her thumb to Ancom’s mouth, still tender from when she bit it not half an hour ago. Qi feels qir eyelids flutter. 

“Sure they don’t,” Commie continues, “But why not just let the state do it for you?”

Oh, of course. That again.

“I don’t trust the stupid state,” qi grumbles, closing qir eyes. 

“Of course you don’t. But you do sometimes need things you don’t like, though. Material conditions don’t just magically change.” 

Ancom rolls qir eyes and sighs. 

“I want a proper free society.” Qi tries to keep the whine out of qir voice. “Proper democracy.” 

Commie’s hands rove over qir chest, sending tingles through qir body. Her face presses into qir neck again. Almost reluctantly, Ancom puts a hand on her head and threads qir fingers through her hair. Who knew statists were so clingy after their orgasms.

“Me too, Ancom,” Commie murmurs, vibrations warm against qir skin. “That’s exactly what I want too, you know.” 

\-------------------

**One.**

Commie and Nazi are having one of their awful Authoritarian Unity Moments, except this time it has lasted all fucking day and Ancom hates every second of it. 

It’s nothing new. Some argument about the efficacy of a state would crop up, Nazi and Commie would take each others’ sides,, Ancap would stay out of it and start some business call like the snake she is, and Ancom would be left with both statists on qir hands. 

Like this morning. If listening to Commie talk about material conditions, yet again, with her chest all puffed up wasn’t bad enough, Ancom didn’t even manage to get a good hit at Nazi with qir bat. It took nothing less than Commie’s physical restraint and the knowledge that the fucking fascist probably had a gun on her, but Ancom ultimately only ended the argument by storming off feeling like a loser. 

And now, in the adjacent room, the authoritarians are playing fucking Call of Duty, that god-awful game about imperialist warfare, and Ancom is losing it. Qi can hear every slur Nazi yells, and Commie -- Commie telling her off, Commie asking her to shut the fuck up, but still not stopping the game, still with her, still bursting into obnoxious laughter every ten minutes. 

It’s nothing new. Not like Ancom can expect anything else from the statists, anyway. Qi has no idea why, this time, the sound of Commie congratulating Nazi on a good shot should make quem want to disappear. 

Worse still, despite telling qirself to just get out of the fucking house, qi has just been stewing in qir own room and listening to every bit of it -- as though qi likes feeling miserable, or something. Well, not like that is anything new either. 

Unbidden, Ancom thinks about quemself and Commie, together in this same bed not three nights ago, fucked out and covered in sweat. Thinks about that actual, enjoyable conversation about mutual aid and democracy, and Commie’s arm around qir waist. That unexpected kiss Commie gave quem, just before getting up to leave for her own room. 

Unexpected because they don’t -- they didn’t kiss, of course, unless it’s when they’re fucking. Because Commie is playing fucking Call of Duty with Nazi now. Becasue obviously it’s Ancom who’s the stupid one for not understanding why dictatorships are necessary and people have to die. 

Fuck that.

Qi waits until qi hears the adjacent door open again, and Nazi’s footsteps, finally, heading out of Commie’s room. Then qi flings qir own door open, straight into the fascist’s face. Nazi snarls, eyes narrowing in surprise, and Ancom shoves her face-first into the wall. Storming directly into Commie’s room and slamming the door behind qir, Ancom hears a satisfying cry of pain. 

Commie looks up in surprise as Ancom barges in, and, yeah, Ancom has to stop for a moment. The setting sun from outside her window gilds Commie’s dark hair with gold -- a lovely, fiery sweep across her shoulders, her jaw. The strong line of her mouth stands out in relief, and the familiar hardness in her eyes makes something twist in Ancom’s stomach. 

So Ancom marches forward, wraps qir hands around Commie’s face, and kisses her, fiercely. After a surprised pause, Commie reciprocates, wrapping familiar arms around qir shoulders to tug qir down toward her. It gives quem a strange thrill to be the one standing, the one to lean down and stroke qir fingers through Commie’s hair, have Commie reach upwards to pull qir closer. 

Breaking contact for just a moment, qi sweeps one leg over Commie’s lap and straddles her. When Commie looks up at quem, her eyes are dark and wide and her flushed lips are parted. 

“Very demanding today, huh,” she murmurs. “What is it, Ancom?” 

Commie’s voice is quiet and hoarse, and the sound of it scrapes against something deep inside Ancom, something strong and needy and tight. Qi rolls qir hips against hers, biting qir lip at the friction. Qi leans down to suck at Commie’s neck so qi doesn’t have to look into her eyes. 

“Let’s fuck,” qi says into Commie’s skin. “Let’s just fuck.” 

Ancom presses her into the sheets and climbs on top of her. Grinds against her and nudges her legs apart. Swallows her moan in a kiss. 

And wonders why qi still feels oddly empty. 

\-----------------

**Zero.**

Commie can feel the blood soaking through her sleeve and dripping onto the porch as she fumbles with her keys to unlock the door of Ancap’s house. Ancom pushes the door open and darts inside first as Commie gingerly bends to wipe the droplets of red off Ancap’s pristine marble. Considering how much blood there actually is, she isn’t actually in that much pain. Commie has been through worse, of course. 

Just not like this. 

Ancom runs back in a few moments holding a first-aid kid. “You’re bleeding too much. Come on, Commie” 

“I’m fine, Anarkitty.” 

They had gone out into the streets together, under the cover of night, because Ancom wanted to paint anarchy symbols along a block of flats with predatory landlords. Commie doesn’t think much about painting or anarchy, but at least she does fucking hate landlords, and Ancom wanted to do it, and, well. That meant she could try it out, too. 

Except they had been cornered by men in actual fucking armbands -- the symbol on which Commie just managed to make out before the leader threw the first punch in Ancom’s direction. Ancom had yelled and ducked out of the way before Commie could even register what happened, and then there a chorus of shouting, and Ancom’s bat swinging across the sky, a man lunging forward, and then that quick sting of the blade across Commie’s arm, a pulse of genuine fear shooting through her --

She had managed to get her pistol out in time to see Ancom hitting one of the men squarely in the head with qir bat with a sickening crunch, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Ancom, so small in stature but wielding qir bat like a javelin, screaming as qi single-handedly charges straight at the remaining two bastards. 

Commie raised her pistol with both hands. 

“ _My finger_ ,” she had bellowed, “ _Is on the fucking trigger_.” And then they had backed away into the night. 

Ancom was not hurt. Ancom was not hurt. She had spent the whole way back trying to make sure that Ancom was not hurt. And now she gently shrugs off Ancom’s hands but follows qir to the bathroom, gives quem her arm to let quem examine the wound. 

“Fuck, Commie. That looks painful.” 

Commie looks down at the injury. “Not really.” Her voice cracks a little toward the end, though, and she winces, averting her gaze to reach for the bandages. 

Ancom’s hand stills her. She pauses and looks up into Ancom’s faces. Ancom’s head is tilted slightly to one side, big eyes shining with concern.

“Let me do it for you.” 

She pauses a little, then lets quem. Lets Ancom take the bandages from her hand and roll them gently over her arm. Lets Ancom put her back together. 

“I _have_ had a bit of practice, you know,” Ancom muses. A hint of amusement dances at the corner of qir lips. “You do know that, right? Someone’s got to clean the fascists up.” 

Beneath the dim ceiling light, Ancom’s eyes are shining. Qir eyelashes impossibly long, and a lock of loose hair curls out of qir hoodie to dance across qir nose. Commie wonders, as though in a dream, if this is how revolution feels like. Brave and beautiful, like Ancom’s big eyes. And the warmth of Ancom’s hand, laced through hers. She can count every freckle on Ancom’s cheek. 

Her chest is tight. She swallows thickly and wonders the fuck she feels like she is going to cry. 

So she leans over their crossed legs, slips a hand behind Ancom’s head, and kisses quem. Ancom tilts qir head to lean closer, and qir mouth slides, slow and warm, against hers. The taste and feel makes Commie’s chest hurt, but she fancies she can sit here, on the cold tiles of Ancap’s bathroom, and kiss Ancom forever. 

“Commie?” Ancom’s voice is soft when they break apart. Commie strokes her hand across qir fringe, tucks a loose strand behind qir ear so she can looks into qir eyes. “Commie, let’s go to bed together.”

She would pick Ancom up and carry quem into bed but her arm hurts too much. So she holds it around Ancom’s waist instead and does not let go, not even when they are under the sheets together again, mouths damp against each other, Ancom sighing as Commie’s other, wandering hand slips over qir hip. 

She takes her time with Ancom. Tries to remember every sound qi makes, the taste of salt on qir skin. Laces her fingers through qir clenching fists as she traces the nooks in qir body with her tongue. 

_Beautiful._ Sweeping Ancom’s fringe to the side and pressing her mouth to qir forehead. _Revolutionary_. Against Ancom’s cheek, trailing wet kisses down to qir neck. Against Ancom’s navel, Ancom’s torso twisting up to meet her. _I will look after you._ On the insides of Ancom’s thighs, qir pleading whimpers making her chest burn. Between Ancom’s legs as qi arches against her mouth and comes. 

Finishing two minutes later against Ancom’s thigh. _Always stay with me._

“Unity probably isn’t that bad,” she says into Ancom’s hair, hugging quem closer. The air is still, and the world feels slightly softer than usual. She can drift off to sleep like this, just like this, with Ancom in her arms. 

Ancom’s giggle is muffled against her neck. “The material conditions say so?” 

“Yes.” She drops a kiss on Ancom’s head. “They definitely do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not only degenerate but also emo apparently


End file.
